


And I can name them in my dreaming

by wintercreek



Series: Nightsongs and Lullabies [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Community: 14_valentines, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-04
Updated: 2009-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg knows she'll find something to fill the space, but she'd wanted it to be someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I can name them in my dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 4, Reproductive Rights and Motherhood, at [14 Valentines](http://community.livejournal.com/14valentines/) 2009.

She remembers, what feels like a lifetime ago, what had started this all. She'd told Fraser it was the endless baby showers, the other women her age and younger with their new families, the expectation that she would have this, some way. And that was true.

But what really led her down the long road, through the scrutiny and the inspections and the fees and the agonizing wait, had been far simpler. It had been a CD of lullabies, repeating endlessly through the evening and into the velvet night, that made her sit down hard and wrap her arms around her knees. That made her ache for the child she was sure she was meant to hold.

Meg's still holding her knees, nothing more, and she sits in the rocking chair she'd hopefully acquired and hums a lullaby absently. The feeling settling in her chest is a growing calm disappointment and the unvoiced words _Maybe this wasn't meant to be._ Meg doesn't know if she'll try again, apply again next year maybe. Feet tucked up and face turned up to the distant sky visible through the window, she wonders, _What if that was it? That was the moment, and I missed it._

She's grateful, now, that there are no clothes to pack up. It had seemed only sensible to wait, to see how old the child would be. Not much in the way of furniture - just the rocking chair, really, which is hardly an unusual thing to own. Her two-bedroom apartment seems a little larger now. Meg knows she'll find something to fill the space, but she'd wanted it to be someone.

The phone is within easy reach, and once the receiver is in her hand she finds herself dialing the consulate without thinking about it. Meg breathes through the rings and sighs as she counts five; no one's coming to the phone. She uncurls herself and starts to hang up, and just then the line goes live.

"Canadian Consulate, _Consulat du Canada_. Constable Benton Fraser speaking. How may I help you?"

Meg doesn't know what to say, how to bridge the gap between them with this. She starts and then stops herself, tries again. "Fraser. This is Inspe- No."

"No, sir?" Of course he knows who she is.

"Benton. It's Meg. Can you come over?" She lets the silence hang, picturing his confusion, gathering her courage. "I know it's late, but. I need a friend." She's had enough of this distancing and enough polite fiction. "I need you."

It's on the tip of her tongue to apologize and back out when he answers her. "Of course, Meg. I'll be there shortly."

Nothing turned out how she pictured it. But Meg Thatcher is not afraid to chart her own course, to forge her own paths - she's rarely done anything but.

"Thank you, Benton." As she hangs up the phone, she thinks, _It's a start._ This moment she won't miss. And so Meg stands and goes to put the kettle on.


End file.
